Primary Storm (9 page)

"Of course."

"I might have need of your other skills, if you can pull yourself away from finding out if Senator Pomeroy likes to surf the Net for big-breasted porn."

He said, "Somebody screwed you over."

"Correct. If it wasn't for the fact that I got sick at a certain time, I'd still be in prison, and I'd probably be going to trial in a few months."

'What happened, then? Just heard a radio report that a magazine columnist --- you --- had been arrested for trying to kill Senator Hale. Knew that you didn't have it in you. So what's the deal?"

"Deal was, two days ago, a guy came by to see me. Said he was from the Secret Service, was sent to my house to do an interview. Said I was on a list of 'persons of interest' and once he was satisfied that I was your run-of-the-mill nut, and not the kind of nut who blows up buildings, that was that. Wanted to know if I was going to the Hale rally the next day. Which I did. That's when somebody in the crowd took two shots at the senator, using my .357 Ruger. Revolver was left behind, with my prints and nobody else's. So I got arrested this morning and was released after your Raymond Drake came by and proved I wasn't in the building at the time of the shooting."

"How did he do that?"

"Got some television footage showing me throwing up in the parking lot of the Tyler Conference Center, about two minutes before the shooting started. Since I couldn't have been in two places at once, I was let go."

"You feeling better?"

"Better after having thrown up, or better after being released?"

"Both."

"Affirmative on both counts," I said.

Felix smiled. "Good old Raymond."

"That's not all. Right after I was arrested, I found out that the guy who was here talking to me the day before the rally wasn't really from the Secret Service."

Felix said, "This faux Secret Service agent. His name?"

"Spenser Harris."

"Show you ID?"

"Yes, he did."

He took a swallow from the coffee mug. "That's some serious scamming that was going on."

"I know. If I had been a bit more on the ball or suspicious, he would have been facing some hard charges of impersonating a federal law enforcement officer."

"Right. What else can you tell me about him?"

"Early thirties. Short black hair. About my height, though thinner and more muscled. Well dressed. Well-spoken. And ... well. Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm sure that he's the one that stole my Ruger."

"Did he have a mysterious bulge in his pocket?" Felix asked.

"I wasn't looking for bulges, mysterious or otherwise," I said.

"But I saw something I should have noticed. It was snowing when I came home and he was waiting for me. But his coat was clean. There was no snow on his shoulders. He had been in my house before I got here, long enough to steal my Ruger."

"Some setup," Felix said. The phone started ringing again, sounding sharp against my ears. I ignored it again.

I looked around at my small and snug and safe house, and while I was somewhat put out that Felix had let himself in, I really didn't like the thought of a stranger in here, a stranger who had gone through my belongings, looked at my belongings, stole one particular belonging as part of ---

Part of what? The phone stopped ringing.

I said, "Setup. That's right. And look at what was involved. This guy knew me, knew my background, knew my relationship with Annie. He knew enough about my job with the Department of Defense to ask the right questions, look for the right answers. And he was confident enough to pull it all off, like he had help, somebody backing him up."

"More than one then."

"Yes."

"So. Who'd you piss off lately?"

"Excuse me?"

Felix said, "Look at the facts, my friend. Somebody tried to kill the senator. And not just any old run-of-the-mill senator. A guy who's trying to become president of the United States. And someone tried to pin that on you. More than one person. And if it's more than one person, ipso facto, it's a conspiracy. Organized. Smart. With resources. Not some nut lone gunman with a crush on a movie star or something equally stupid. So. Like I said, who's out there to get you?"

"Not a clue."

"Well, better get a clue soon, or next time you get set up, they'll do a better job."

"Felix, you're beginning to sound like bad late-night AM radio."

His eyes flashed at me. "Maybe so, but you should know better. You should look at things more closely, like you used to do, back when you were at the Pentagon."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah, really," he said. "Not that you've ever said word one about what you did back there, but I'm no idiot. I know what kind of things are looked at, what kind of things are researched. So research this. All these guys running for president ---- Senator Hale, Senator Pomeroy, the congressman, and the general ---they're not out there on their own, with a stump speech and a smile. They've got people, lobbying groups, and corporations backing them, backing them with volunteers, phone banks, and lots of dollars. These people like power, they like to have power, they like to keep power. And when things get tight, like this primary season, things happen. Dirty tricks. Whisper campaigns. And maybe an assassination. So watch your back."

"I will."

"Good."

He finished his coffee, put the mug down, and said, "I need to be going. If you'd like, I'll see what --- if any thing --- I can find out about your fake Secret Service agent. Usually I can sniff around and find out about strange men bearing firearms and identification that show up in my neighborhood."

"I don't think you'll find squat."

"Probably not, but it'll make me feel good, and hopefully, you, too." He stood up, retrieved his long coat, and put it on.

I said, "A couple of days ago, you came to me seeking advice. Today, you're talking about feelings. You still surprise me, Mr. Tinios."

"Good." He started to the door and said, "Meanwhile, I'd stay away from campaign rallies."

"All right, but I can't stay away from campaign volunteers. Well, one particular volunteer."

"I can see why," Felix said. "You be safe now."

"I will. You watch out for the media up in the parking lot, all right?"

"Sure. Not a problem."

"And ... thanks. Thanks for coming by."

He grinned as he opened the door, and I stepped outside with him. "It's wintertime, there's not much to do, and days like this, Lewis, you make a fine, distracting hobby."

And when my friendly hobbiest left, I went back inside.

At my phone, the answering machine announced in little red numerals that there were thirty-six messages waiting for me.

How nice to be so bloody popular.

I grabbed a pen and a slip of paper, sat down, and started going through the messages. It didn't take as long as I expected. Four of the messages were from pollsters or campaigns, thirty-one were from various media outlets --- only one of whom I intended to contact --- and in the middle of the mess, one from Annie.

"Lewis, call me on my cell, all right? I've heard about ... your troubles. Call me when you can."

I called her back. No answer. I left a message, and then looked again at the phone. I made the call, and there was the cheerful voice of Paula Quinn, my reporter friend from the
Chronicle.

"Lewis," she said. "How sweet you'd call me back I'd think you'd be angling to go on one of those cable round-table shows. Or a major network. Or an exclusive with
The New York Times
."

"I'm not friends with any of them," I said. "Just with you."

She laughed. "One of the few advantages of being a reporter in a small newspaper during the primary. Look.  Are you up to talking to me?"

"Absolutely."

"All right, I'm leaving friend mode and now going into reporter's mode, all right?"

"Sure," I said. "And I'm going into source mode. Fair enough?"

I could make out the tapping of her computer keyboard.

"Considering this is the biggest story in the Western Hemisphere today, you can go into any mode you'd like."

"Thanks. Look, everything and anything I say from now on, I'm not to be quoted by name or inference. Just say 'a source close to the investigation.' Does that work?"

"Works fine, and you're being a dear, but deadline is fast approaching. Can we get going?"

"Absolutely."

So I talked to Paula for a bit, answering the best I could, and despite my short answers, I think she was pleased that she was scooping the entire journalistic world with exclusive details on the attempted assassination attempt against Senator Jackson Hale. And to show her pleasure, she squeezed a lunch date out of me for later in the week, with a promise to pick up the check. Later in the afternoon the illness that had saved me from a longer stay at the Wentworth County Jail rallied and assaulted me again. The nausea had returned, along with a set of chills that made me shiver every few minutes. I had called Annie twice more and had left her messages both times, the last one saying, "I'm feeling awful again, so I'm unplugging the phone and crawling into bed. Join me if you can."

Which is what I did, but before crawling into said bed, I went around and made sure the windows were locked, that the door was locked, and the sliding glass door leading out to my first-floor deck was locked. I also did a quick weapons inventory, and aside from the missing Ruger, my twenty-gauge shotgun, my eight-millimeter FN-FAL, and my nine-millimeter Beretta were all in place. I went upstairs and retrieved my Beretta from my bedroom, took a long shower to warm up my chilled bones, and then slid into bed. I read for a while and soon enough, the sounds of the ocean put me to sleep.

The creaking door from downstairs woke me up. I reached over to the nightstand, grasped my pistol. It was cold and awkward and yet comforting in my hand. I sat up, moist and cool, and knew my fever had broken. There were footsteps on the stairs coming up to my floor, and I aimed the pistol out toward the open door, waiting. Waiting.

The wind rattled the windows in my bedroom. I waited and ---

Damn.

I lowered the pistol and pulled the sheet over it, just as a figure appeared in the doorway. I called out, "Hello, Annie."

"Lewis," came the familiar and lovely voice. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't, not to worry," I said.

She came in, and as she undressed, I tried my best to quietly put the Beretta back on the nightstand, and she said, "That's a new one, Lewis. Usually you can get me into bed with a soft word, not a weapon."

"The day I've had ... sorry, I heard someone come in." Annie came over, slid under the sheets. "But you invited me, didn't you?"

"That I did."

She cuddled up next to me and said, "You've been all over the news, but you knew that."

"Yes."

"Do you know why you are involved? Who did this to you?"

"Not a clue."

"Mmm ... you intend to find out."

"That I do."

She said, "I ... I cherish you, Lewis, but please. Please don't do anything to cause any more bad publicity for the senator. All right? I believe in him. I really do. And ... I just want him to win next week Okay?"

I stroked her hair. "Is this my Annie talking, or campaign Annie?"

"It's me talking, that's who."

"I understand, dear one, I do. Whatever I do, it'll have nothing to do with the senator. I just want to know how and why I was set up."

She touched my forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Drained. Whatever I had before the rally seems to be going away."

"Good."

She kissed me chastely on the cheek and said, "You've had a long day. I've had a long day. Let's ... let's just sleep, all right?"

"Fine. That'll be just fine."

She moved some more and in an instant was asleep. I held her for a bit, and then gently disentangled myself and rolled over. I lay there, listening to her breathing slow and deepen, until it almost matched the rhythm of the ocean's waves.

I awoke with wet hair in my face. Annie was there, fresh out of the shower, it seemed, and she raised herself up. "You okay?" she asked. She was already dressed, and knowing Annie, breakfast was either ready or already consumed.

"Feeling better. I think"

Another kiss. "I've got to run. Campaign staff meeting in forty-five minutes, and I'm only going to be on time if I speed my pert little ass over to Manchester. I'll call you later, all right?"

"Sure. Thanks for coming by. It ... it meant a lot."

"Meant a lot to me, too. Especially when you didn't shoot me."

I raised myself up and kissed her, and she smiled, and then she was gone.

I lowered myself back to bed, yawned, and thought about what I should do next, and when I looked at my bedside clock ---- keeping company with my nine-millimeter Beretta --- I saw that another hour had passed.